whore
Listening to no reasoning for it, be it good or bad
Little content most people have in the peace
Little pleasure now in a play, the company being but little
Little children employed, every one to do something
Little worth of this world, to buy it with so much pain
Little company there, which made it very unpleasing
Live of L100 a year with more plenty, and wine and wenches
Long cloaks being now quite out
Long petticoat dragging under their men's coats
Look askew upon my wife, because my wife do not buckle to them
Looks to lie down about two months hence
Lord! to see the absurd nature of Englishmen
Lord! in the dullest insipid manner that ever lover did
Lust and wicked lives of the nuns heretofore in England
Luxury and looseness of the times
Lying a great while talking and sporting in bed with my wife
Made a lazy sermon, like a Presbyterian
Made to drink, that they might know him not to be a Roundhead
Made him admire my drawing a thing presently in shorthand
Magnifying the graces of the nobility and prelates
Make a man wonder at the good fortune of such a fool
Making their own advantages to the disturbance of the peace
Man cannot live without playing the knave and dissimulation
Mankind pleasing themselves in the easy delights of the world
Many thousands in a little time go out of England
Many women now-a-days of mean sort in the streets, but no men
Mass, and some of their musique, which is not so contemptible
Matters in Ireland are full of discontent
Mazer or drinking-bowl turned out of some kind of wood
Mean, methinks, and is as if they had married like dog and bitch
Meazles, we fear, or, at least, of a scarlett feavour
Methought very ill, or else I am grown worse to please
Mightily pleased with myself for the business that I have done
Mightily vexed at my being abroad with these women
Mighty fond in the stories she tells of her son Will
Milke, which I drank to take away, my heartburne
Mind to have her bring it home
Mirrors which makes the room seem both bigger and lighter
Money I have not, nor can get
Money, which sweetens all things
Montaigne is conscious that we are looking over his shoulder
Most flat dead sermon, both for matter and manner of delivery
Most homely widow, but young, and pretty r